Full disclosure: I’m not supposed to be telling you any of this. Not only could it wreck Santa’s dazzling PR, but it could destroy the perfect, happy, idyllic image of North Pole, Inc. (formerly Santa’s Workshop) entirely.
I’m an elf born and raised right here in the North Pole. I was a toy-maker for a long time. I’m not anymore. Last year, just before Christmas, I broke my thousand-year contract and escaped to a place so deep into the North Pole wilderness that I doubt even Santa’s own team of private investigators could find me here. There are many of us living out here, trying to survive our refugee life as best as we can.
Most of you don’t even believe in Santa Claus or the toy-making elves or the flying reindeer—any of it—so I doubt you’ll take seriously anything I’m about to tell you. But I’m begging you to please listen.
We elves are held to a high standard of behavior all year round, every year of our lives. After all, it wouldn’t be right for us to be making toys for good children and gathering coal for bad children if we weren’t pristinely behaved ourselves. Santa takes this very seriously. That’s why here at the North Pole, there’s a Naughty List and a Nice List just for the elves.
Children have it pretty easy. As everyone knows, the worst thing that can happen if you’re on Santa’s Naughty List is receiving a lump of coal or no present at all. What may come as a surprise to you is that even though Santa sees everything a child does all year, he doesn’t actually put too many of them on the Naughty List. Those on the Naughty List usually did more than just talk back to their parents, lie about cleaning their rooms, or fight with their siblings. Children only end up on the Naughty List if they’re very naughty.
Elves aren’t so lucky. There are many strict rules for us to follow. Breaking any one of them can get you on the Naughty List. Second chances are rarely, if ever, handed out for rule-breakers.
From the time we’re little, we’re drilled on the Ten Christmas Commandments. They are as follows:
Control your temper. Be jolly at all times, never sulky or argumentative.
Never use curse words. Your speech should always be wholesome.
Give your elven duties your best effort every day. If you are lazy and fail to meet expectations, Santa will know.
Join in the singing of Christmas songs at the beginning and end of each day. You must never miss a session of singing unless you have a good reason.
Show reverence for Santa and Mrs. Claus at all times.
Never appear outside your home wearing clothing that doesn’t reflect the spirit of Christmas and your status as an elf.
Physical intimacy between elves is not allowed unless Santa grants them the right to procreate during the season of procreation.
Elves must be sober at all times. Public drunkenness will not be tolerated.
Always keep your workstation neat and tidy.
Never, ever falter in observing and honoring the Christmas season all the way through to Twelfth Night. Show your dedication to the holiday in everything you say and do.
This is not an exhaustive list of rules. It’s just a guideline. A number of specific infractions can land an elf on the Naughty List. And for elves, the Naughty List is not to be taken lightly.
Each year on Christmas Eve, we’re called to a mandatory gathering outside Santa’s estate. Armed guards march us over there and surround us—rifles in hand—as we stand there listening to Santa Claus himself list the names on the Nice List first, and then the Naughty List.
The relief I feel when my name is called is something I cannot put to words. A palpable terror always fills the air around me when Santa reaches the end of the Nice List. Even in the silence, I can feel the agony of the elves around me who know full well their names were not spoken.
And then, because sparing them the pain of hearing their names is just too much mercy to be shown to the transgressors, Santa goes on to read all of the names on the Naughty List. Elves are usually already weeping, shaking their heads in shocked refusal, or yelling belligerent protests by the time their names are said.
A close friend of mine ended up on the Naughty List years ago for using a curse word. I saw the bravest, most devil-could-care elf I’d ever known crumble that day. I’ll never forget his screams of terror as he was led away.
As to how I managed to consistently end up on the Nice List for such a long time, I can only tell you that from the time I was old enough to fully grasp the reality of the Naughty List, to the point where I left, I went out of my way to be the perfect elf. I bowed deeply to Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus every time I saw them. I never, ever spoke negatively of anyone or anything at the workshop. I was never late for work, always sang my heart out with the other elves, and made sure I had a smile on my face every time someone was looking my way—especially during the Christmas season.
I did all of this despite dying inside as I watched other elves face the consequences of even their unwitting missteps and always wondered, as Christmas rolled around each year, if my own reckoning was coming.
The final straw was losing the love of my life to the Naughty List. She had been my childhood friend. I realized I was in love with her near the end of Juvenile Elf Training. She had the warmest smile—not fake and forced like most of us at the North Pole, but warm and true. Her laugh was infectious and she laughed often. Her short, black, curly hair danced around her face with each step she took. Her dark brown eyes smoldered with courage. And above all else, she was the kindest soul I’d ever known.
She reassured me no one could see us the night she leaned in and kissed me. We were standing behind an old abandoned reindeer stable about a half a mile away from the village. It was a cold, dark night in early December. Our cheeks and hands were freezing. I cupped her face with my gloved hands to warm it and her smile spread like melting marshmallows in a cup of hot cocoa.
Terrified as I was, I didn’t want that moment to end. Her soft lips awakened everything in me and warmed my soul—not a warmth like what I feel when I sit in front of the tiny fireplace in my cabin, but a warmth like the sun had finally come to the North Pole and melted everything.
She didn’t cry or scream when they dragged her away after her name was read off the Naughty List. Her face was full of terror and shame as she looked back at me one final time. I refused to watch as she stepped up to the scaffold and waited for the noose to take hold of her neck. I stared at the ground and remained numb with disbelief. It wasn’t until later that night, lying in bed, that grief hit me and I openly wept.
And now I’m a North Pole expat, terrified every day that I’ll be found and dragged back. Some of the other elves out here talk about going back and staging a revolution, but most of us aren’t ready to take our chances. I know if my love were here, she’d enthusiastically agree to join the fight.
For now, all I can do is curl up in the ramshackle shelter I built here for myself and a few others, and try to remember the sound of her voice as I try to forget the pain in my chest.